a goose

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) The corners of his mouth twitched briefly downwards, but the icy glare with which the Ghost met Taldrix was unwavering. “Would it surprise you to learn that Crucius speaks rather highly of you?” He did not leave her time to answer. “He tells me you’re fastidious, intelligent, trustworthy. Such traits are in short supply around here, as I’m sure you know. Better yet, you’re a born sceptic – a quality I greatly admire.” He took another sip of tea; his eyes did not move. “Mindless obedience has its uses, of course; still, I have a great deal more respect for those who show real initiative. The nerve to question orders, to question authority, is something I consider to be invaluable. Crucius knows this about me, and he has – on more than one occasion – suggested you be brought into our circle of trust on exactly that basis. He believes you are able to think for yourself; you and I, of course, know better." He stood, still holding his teacup, and walked to the window as if to gaze out upon his kingdom, though the drapes still obscured much. "I know everything that happens in this compound, Taldrix. See everything. Were tea your only vice, you would likely have found yourself up here much sooner. So I ask again:" He turned and fixed her with four cold eyes, any pretense of a pleasant smile abandoned. His voice, though just as soft as before, became a shard of ice which pierced her and held her, frozen in place. "How long has it been?" OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) As he sat back down, his smile was warm and his eyes were calculating. He was taking her measure – more than that, he wanted her to know that he was. He slid Taldrix's cup and saucer across to her, and took a sip from his own. "That ought to keep any jitters at bay, for the moment. How long since your last hit?" OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: The Ghost (The Tower) The Ghost took a seat opposite her, accepting the proffered notes. "Interesting. Thank you – Taldrix, isn't it?" Even as he spoke, his eyes were scanning the papers. At first, Taldrix was left with the uncomfortable feeling that she was still being observed just as closely, as if he kept one pair of eyes on her while the other read, but it wasn't long before the notes had his full, rapt attention. His singular focus was a strange thing to behold; the speed at which his eyes moved, the slightest twitchings of his mouth as he read, it looked as if he were in some kind of manic trance. As detached from the world around as if he were dreaming, but as awake and attentive as a dune-cat eyeing its prey. This close, she could see that her initial assessment was even more accurate than she might have expected: his face was uncannily like that of an Agori, barring the most obvious difference. The eyes were real, there was no doubt about that – even that mad artificer in Tajun had yet to create a mechanical eye that could so convincingly mimic the real thing – and there was no scarring or stretching of the skin to suggest surgical implantation. He was real, flesh and blood… and metal. His hands, she noticed, were black metal, intricately built and meticulously maintained, a far sight from the jury-rigged chrome of his followers' augmentations. "This… this is… Lords. A full accounting of the progression of symptoms… fascinating, but…" Whatever he had intended to say next, the whistle of the kettle cut him off. "Ah. Pardon me for just a moment." As he stood, he left the notes upon the table. "Say – would you care for a cup? Tesaran tea; good for the nerves." OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: (The Tower) As Taldrix produced her papers, Trem immediately looked to Kast, who was squinting at Crucius' signature with a furrowed brow. It might just have been a matter of literacy; however, the anxiety in Trem's eyes – in both guards' eyes – suggested otherwise. This, it was clear, was quite definitely not standard procedure. Kast looked back to Taldrix, making no effort to disguise his suspicion or his hostility. He seemed just about to say something when, instead, he moved his spear aside, and Trem followed his lead as he turned the handle and allowed the metal door to swing open. The way was clear. The first thing that hit Taldrix was a wave of cool, stale air. As she entered, the door was slowly shut behind her, leaving nowhere to go but forward, up the steep, spiralling stone staircase. It wasn't merely cool inside – it was cold, cold enough to make her shiver, as if she had stepped back into the frigid North where the Skrall had made their home. Metal pipes wound along the walls, encrusted at their joints with a thin layer of ice. There were no windows in this part of the tower; the Ghost's first order upon making it his home had been to have them bricked up. Instead, the stairs were bathed in a sickly yellow glow from some dull light source far above. All that was left now was the climb. As Taldrix ascended, she noticed salt on the stairs, crunching underfoot. It was a typical Northern solution to snow and ice, and despite the frost upon the pipes, it kept the stone steps from being rendered any more hazardous than they already were. The cold seemed less fierce the further she rose, perhaps in part because she was growing accustomed to it, but the ice on the pipes grew thinner and dripped with condensation. The light, too, was brighter this close to the source; she was almost at the top. And there, at the summit of the stairs, was another metal door. Before she had even had the chance to knock, she heard a voice call out to her from inside: "The door is open; please, do step on in." The man who spoke stood at the other end of the room beyond, his back to her. Far from the oppressive heat outside or the stifling cold below, the temperature within seemed perfectly tuned, if just a little on the cool side. The room itself seemed fit for an emperor, with chairs and tables of Tesaran wood scattered around it. One seemed to be for eating, another a desk, another again set aside for a board game, and finally there was a chairless, long table with a map draped across it. "Please, please sit – I've just put the kettle on." His voice was soft and warm, and as he turned he gestured towards a square table, across which two comfortable chairs faced one another. Semi-opaque drapes hung over the window, and the sunlight that filtered through was rendered warm and dim. Even with her eyes having adjusted to the dull illumination of the stairwell, the man's dark skin and garb made it difficult to discern his features. He didn't look all that different from any Agori – taller, certainly, but he would still come up short against most any Glatorian. His most striking feature, however, was only accentuated by the murky light: As Taldrix looked upon the Ghost, four glowing blue eyes looked back at her. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Kast & Trem (Staff NPCs; The Tower) The old watchtower had stood for generations, a marker of the Gatherers' unstoppable expansion. Once it had marked the border of the Stronghold; now, it lay well within them. Though well-preserved, it had fallen into disuse over time; after all, what good was a watchtower so far from the walls? There were simple parapets by the wrought iron gates that marked the entryway to the Stronghold, and those more than sufficed. The old watchtower became nothing more than a landmark, and an imposing feature of the Stronghold's silhouette. As with so many other things, it was the arrival of the Ghost that led to the change. It made a certain sense; between its intimidating height and the Ghost's reclusive nature, it allowed Him to stay separate and above the rest of the Gatherers, while still at their heart. Its restoration seemed to be something of a pet project for the Ghost and His chosen few. As a result, the past few months had seen a constant buzz of activity around the site, which had only recently settled and solidified into a small guard presence. So it was that when Taldrix arrived at the Tower, she was met with only two sentries standing at its doors. Kast and Trem – true believers, who had sworn themselves to the Ghost's service from Crucius' clan. As was increasingly typical of those favoured by the Ghost, they bore the clear scars of cybernetic augmentation, and both men held in their hands a strange spear, wires coiled along its length. As their fellow Gatherer approached, they crossed their spears to block the door and glared at her in silence. If she had permission to enter, it was up to her to prove as much. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Xoros (NPC; Creep Canyons) The mountainous Bone Hunter heard the approaching wolves before he saw them, the rumble of their engines carried by the canyon’s echoing walls. “Gatherers!” He roared, spittle flying from his mouth. “To arms!” IC: Wolf (Creep Canyons) “Take out the riders first; leave the pack leader to me." Wolf's narrowed eyes were alight with something colder than vengeance and more blistering than hate, as if she carried in her countenance the burning soul of the desert itself. The roar of her Kaxium was a thunderous war-cry, one that shook the sands beneath its wheels almost as much as the pounding feet of the Rock Steeds. The Bone Hunters were holding position, forming up with the riders in front. They intended to form a roadblock with the bodies of their Steeds, forcing the wolves to a stop; the riders would use the height advantage to strike down at them, while the Hunters on foot would flank the bikes and box them in. It was a standard tactic, one that had spelt the end of many a caravan, but it was not without flaw. The Kaxium's roar grew to a scream as it continued to accelerate, and Wolf locked furious eyes with Xoros. OOC: @Wotz IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Somnii breathed a long, tired breath, one she hadn't even realised she was holding. She could feel what little strength she'd called to arms leaving her, exhaustion weighing heavily upon her shoulders. Her negotiations had taken more out of her than she anticipated, but the important thing was that she would soon know her captor. Once she knew who held her leash, she would be one step closer to securing her freedom – or so she hoped, at least. OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) “Of course! If you’ll allow me?” She held out a hand, gesturing for the return of the device. OOC: @Toru Nui @Morgan Yu IC: Celrys (Workshop, Tajun) Celrys held his head in his hand and laughed. “Of course. My apologies, Del. Miss Daring, look after Del for a moment while I get their helmet.” Without waiting for a reply, the artificer began making his way back to his office. OOC: @Snelly @Techn0geist

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice) Tueris, who had until that point been – if anything, too – forthright in his warnings, seemed remarkably unbothered by the development regarding the sick scout, even as the tension was rising in the rest of the room. “Very well, then. See to your scout; the rest of us will wait for you by the elevator.” He turned his eye back to Somok, and ever-so-slightly inclined his head. “Thank you for your time, Elder.” As he walked out the door, he did not wait to see if the rest of the party followed. Some small part of him hoped that they might not. OOC: @Toru Nui @oncertainty @Burnmad @Nato G @~Xemnas~

IC: Celrys (His workshop, Tajun) "How curious." His thumb brushed absently against his lips, as he began pacing slowly towards Del. "Perhaps with the implant rendered temporarily non-operational, we're getting-" Celrys, who until that moment had appeared almost to be in a trance of his own, seemed suddenly to remember he had company. He massaged the back of his neck as he turned back to Skyra, smiling uncomfortably. "My apologies, Miss Daring. Just… thinking out loud." OOC: @Snelly @Techn0geist

IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) As she returned to the reception, Cacia saw that the customer was still examining the device. "Anything catch your eye?" OOC: @Toru Nui @Morgan Yu IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun) "Has this happened before? The singing?" Celrys' voice was barely more than a whisper, as if to avoid disrupting the Ferrumite's reverie. There was a tenderness to his expression, along with a strange sense of melancholy. OOC: @Snelly @Techn0geist

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; The Precipice) Tueris' posture relaxed ever so slightly, his relief at having to accept only one new addition to their party apparent to anyone watching closely enough. He turned to look at this 'Xyde,' sizing them up. "We would be fools to turn away a good medic, plague or no. You are welcome to join us." His tone had markedly less warmth than his words, but there was no insincerity in his expression. "Still, I would urge you to consider your responsibilities here. What becomes of your patients, if you do not return home? Or your family?" OOC: @Toru Nui @Nato G @oncertainty @Burnmad @~Xemnas~

IC: Wolf (Creep Canyons) "I had heard rumours, but… this is something else entirely." The Bone Hunters' new leader was not to be trifled with, it seemed. Wolf glared at the party with a renewed intensity. "The pack leader – he's wearing trophies. Sand Tribe bones." The disgust in her tone was palpable, the first time her companion had heard any emotion seep into her voice. "We should teach them how it feels to be hunted for sport." OOC: @Wotz

IC: Wolf (Creep Canyons) As the pair approached, the figures in the distance grew clearer, confirming their fears. Bone Hunters – seven in total, three of them atop Rock Steeds, though neither of the Wolves had seen their like before. At first they simply appeared to have unusual colouration, their scales an oddly metallic hue; on closer inspection, the truth was significantly more troubling. All three Rock Steeds had been outfitted with cybernetic enhancements. Black wires and silver pistons had been woven into the muscles of their legs, their feet almost entirely replaced with brutal metal talons. One of the three was even more extensively modified, armoured plating grafted to so much of its skin that it looked almost like an automaton, only its underside still exposed. It was this silver steed that led the pack, and where they walked the sand seemed to shimmer beneath their feet. IC: Xoros (NPC; Creep Canyons) Riding the metal monstrosity was a vicious-looking Hunter, tall and broad enough to have passed for a Skrall. It was his colours that made it clear he wasn't, black and grey, his armour decorated with bone and feather. He carried a strange spear in one hand, its coiled wires and strange assembly similar in style to the cybernetics of his steed. Two of the Bone Hunters who were on foot carried similar weapons, though only the rider's was adorned with colourful feathers and the skull of a Vorox. The others carried knives, shortswords, and Thornax launchers. The rider's silver steed, his armour, his spear – all were symbols of his station. He was one of the faithful, a loyal follower of Crucius and the Ghost that commanded him. He was Xoros, Zeskbane; his conquests were written in Tribal blood. And he was itching for some action. OOC: @Wotz

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) "Nope – that's all you get. For now." There was steel behind her eyes, the best show of confidence she could muster. For the time being, it would have to be enough. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Wolf (Atero; Kagnii’s Used Wheels) "You named your bike." It was an observation, not a question; after taking the necessary time to process that information, she revved her engine, pausing only to consider Kagnii. He would not soon forget this indignity, but he was small-time, unconnected. Without his Spice or his goons, he would have great difficulty making trouble for them in the future. Her concerns satisfied, she turned to her fellow Wolf. "Let's ride." OOC: @Wotz

IC: Wolf (Atero; Kagnii’s Used Wheels) While her companion had set about collecting his keys, Wolf left the whimpering mess of ****** and broken bones before her to lick his wounds. By the time Dune Wolf re-emerged, there was a sand-coloured (and sand-worn) Kaxium idling in the lot, the Serrat atop it apparently unbothered by the carnage. "It seems you have a talent for making friends." OOC: @Wotz

IC: Wolf (Atero; Kagnii’s Used Wheels) Wolf kicked Kagnii's knees out from under him, then stomped down for good measure. The crunch was loud enough that even the legitimate businessman's screaming couldn't drown it out. "The safe is in the back office; combination two left, nine right, one. It's where he keeps the Spice." OOC: @Wotz

IC: Wolf (Atero; Kagnii’s Used Wheels) "Call them off. Or I repeat the safe code you gave me when you began begging for your life." OOC: @Wotz

IC: Wolf (Atero; Kagnii’s Used Wheels) “W-wait!” The din of the fight had rendered Wolf’s approach practically inaudible, but in the momentary calm Kagnii’s pleading could be heard loud and clear. All eyes turned to the Agori and the Glatorian who stood behind him, pressing the wicked blade that had sprouted from her wrist against his throat. “Please, explain to your men how you will pay them if you are dead.” OOC: @Wotz

IC: Wolf (Atero; Outside the Red Star Inn) “I know the place. I’ll get my Kaxium, meet you there.” It was, in her traditional style, not much in the way of a farewell, though it hardly needed to be. It would be but a matter of minutes before she and Dune Wolf were reunited; all the same, it gave her time to think. Bringing outsiders into the Serrate, though not unheard of, was highly unusual. It would take some effort to convince the others – Bear, in particular. Moth, she reckoned, would see what she had seen: there was something about this Dune Wolf. His moniker, his history with the Bone Hunters... his loneliness. He was a man without a tribe, and yet one who had so much in common with her people. Their encounter could only have been fated. The Serrata were dying. This might not be their last generation, but it was certainly close to it. Moth had sent her, as he sent the others, to bring back the resources their clan required to survive; perhaps that needn’t only mean food, water, and Denarii. Perhaps what they needed most of all were numbers. OOC: @Wotz IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) Cacia seemed almost not to notice Karak, brushing quickly past him. OOC: @Morgan Yu IC: CelTech Device (CelTech reception, Tajun) As Maxas turned the dial, the image and text changed, now displaying and describing a different device (still in the same block-black format, against the same green background). OOC: @Toru Nui IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun) "No need to worry, they’ll be quite alright. I think. I’m almost certain-” Celrys cut himself off as Cacia came through the door. “Ah- Skyra, could you take over ice-pressing duty here?” Once he was removed from Del, he walked over to his assistant, who was staring at her surroundings with no small amount of wonderment. She seemed surprised when he took the glass of water from her hand, snapping her back to reality. “Thank you, Cacia. We should be fine here, you may return to the desk.” She nodded wordlessly, and shot only a curious glance at Skyra and Del before turning on her heels and leaving. OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Somnii took in a deep breath and glanced around her cell, deciding how much she was willing to say. "Our telegraphy station was… malfunctioning. We couldn't get word in or out of the village, and the sick were quarantined. We tried to send people out via the regular route, but-" She paused, carefully considering her next words. "It proved unfeasible. I knew I was taking a big risk by leaving Ferrum leaderless, but I couldn't risk anyone else's life again. That's why I took it into my own hands to try and get help." OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Kirbraz (Staff NPC; The Shadiest Spot on Bara Magna) In the hours after his plan had entirely collapsed, Kirbraz had a great deal of time to think. He thought about how Scodonius had entirely defied his expectations by stealing the Tajun election from him; he thought about how he should have realised that he had not accomplished that feat alone. Most of all, he thought about how his latest scheme had relied upon the idea that he and Scodonius were, effectively, interchangeable. It was a premise which had guided many of his plans, not least that fateful election. He and his arena partner would 'encourage' the other candidates to withdraw, and whoever won would lead Tajun, with the other in charge of its underworld. Naturally, he had always intended to betray Scodonius; after all, the man had always been too power-hungry for his own good. He wouldn't be satisfied with anything short of total control, which meant that he would inevitably have used his position to usurp Kirbraz. It was on that basis that Kirbraz had secretly offered leadership of Tajun's criminal element to the far more malleable Berix (and Scodonius, ever a font of originality, had done the same). But all of it had ultimately hinged on the fact that Scodonius wasn't smart enough to overcome the odds Kirbraz had stacked against him. Kirbraz had failed to consider how ruthlessness and short-sighted greed could do what brains could not. It was now apparent to him that, though their late-night rendezvous (rendezvi? rendezvouses?) were a recent development, Scodonius and his secret friend had been working together for far longer. But it all still begged the question: why Scodonius? The most obvious answer was that rigging the election left him immediately indebted. It was efficient, but it was also a great deal of effort, and risked exposing his benefactor's interest in Tajun politics. There were doubtless safer, and less cumbersome, ways to have left Kirbraz similarly indebted. There could only be one conclusion: it was not for Scodonius' benefit alone. For whatever reason, the Benefactor needed Scodonius in power. So, again, Kirbraz had to ask himself why? Scodonius was stupid, petty, and short-sighted. So, too, was Kirbraz. He could never have admitted it before, but here, in the final hours of his short and wasted life, he had achieved a clarity heretofore unknown to him; the only real difference between him and Scodonius was that he asked more questions. That was it, then. That was why Scodonius was chosen over him. That was why he was going to die. Kirbraz would have realised the sheer lengths to which the Benefactor was going to keep his interest in Tajun a secret could only mean that he knew something about Tajun that no one else did. That was the real, truly frustrating irony of it all: that Kirbraz didn't even understand the conspiracy that he would be killed to protect. With the effort to which the Benefactor had gone, and his newfound self-comprehension, Kirbraz couldn't help but doubt that he would ever have worked it out, even if he did have more time. The thought gave him pause. If he couldn't have figured it out anyway, then why go to the effort of empowering Scodonius? Kirbraz hadn't been overlooked because he would discover the Benefactor's true motivations – he had been overlooked because his investigations would have tipped off someone who could. And not only that, but the fact that his life was in danger meant that he already knew enough to set them on the right path. Therefore – even with blackmail now off the table – his information still had value. Value enough to be exchanged for protection. Right now, all of the most powerful people in the Wastelands were in Tajun, gathered for the exhibition match. All but one – naturally, the only one he could trust. Raanu. If he was going to survive the night, Kirbraz would need to find a ride to Vulcanus.

IC: Cacia (NPC; CelTech reception, Tajun) Cacia forced a pleasant smile to her face as yet another customer arrived without an appointment. She had foolishly hoped that, this close to the Grand Tournament, there would be a lull in activity – there often was, in that gap where the year's competitors had their affairs in order and audiences had yet to be inspired by the extensive free advertisement the games represented for the company. Apparently, today would be an exception. "Certainly. If you can give me some idea of what you're interested in, I can-" She paused and looked away, as if distracted. "Right away, sir." Cacia turned her attention back to the customer, producing from behind the desk a metal tablet, a small gear protruding from its base. It had a glass screen backed with green, upon which a rough black image of a device was displayed, accompanied by explanatory text. "If you turn the dial on the bottom, it will allow you to browse our catalogue of standard enhancements. If you have any questions, or you're interested in something more personalised, I'll be back with you in just a moment. Feel free to take a seat in the meantime." With that, she turned again to the contraption under her desk, filling another glass of water and hurriedly making her way over to the hallway into which Karak had emerged. OOC: @Toru Nui @Morgan Yu IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun) "Get them up onto the chair!" For the first time in Skyra's experience, there was a palpable anxiety to Celrys' voice, bordering on panic. He shut the metal cabinet and rushed over to Del, holding a bag of what appeared to be… ice? It was a sight that was beyond uncommon in the Wastelands; the only place to see it in person was in the White Quartz or Black Spike mountains. And here Celrys was, pressing it to Del's forehead. "This should hopefully get their temperature under control," he offered in explanation, breathing a sigh of relief as he checked Del for signs of injury. "No obvious damage… good, that's good." OOC: @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Room) Wolf nodded. "A Kaxium. Still, we'll have to travel the last stretch on foot." OOC: @Wotz

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Somnii's disgust towards the Bone Hunter only grew, forced to listen as she matter-of-factly brushed off the plague that had devastated her people. Some dark facet of her wished, in that moment, that she could infect her captor, and watch her sneering disregard turn to terror. She knew, though, that that wasn't her; just a result of her exhaustion and stress. If she could hold back her disdain for a putrid little worm like Metus, she could handle this no-name slaver. She worried for a moment that such thoughts might be symptoms of her worsening condition, before reassuring herself that she was just growing too tired to care about sympathising with people who didn't deserve it. Trying not to think unkind thoughts about slavers was a pointless waste of energy she didn't have. Better just to hold her tongue. "Last night was my fourth dreamless sleep, and I'm still going strong. So, I wouldn't get your hopes up about getting rid of me anytime too soon." The Bone Hunter didn't need to know about her blackout. For now, Somnii herself was still hoping it was a freak occurrence, and not a sign that she was deteriorating. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Room) “Awake and ready,” she replied, pulling her helm down over her eyes. Her few belongings were already gathered into a pack and flung over her shoulder. “I gather you would have preferred the floor; you’ll sleep well in the Serrate.” OOC: @Wotz IC: Celrys (His office, Tajun) Celrys, his scope retracted, watched the strange Glatorian leave with a look of unmistakeable sadness in his eyes. There was disappointment there, yes – disappointment that he hadn’t been able to get through to him – but there was also hurt. The pain was an unfamiliar one, here as he was in his custom workshop, where people came to him from all across the known world, where he was respected and, perhaps, even revered. It was the look in the Glatorian’s eyes; it made him think of another Celrys, living another life, years before he would become a household name. One who was forced to grow accustomed to that look, one not just of anger or unease but of disgust. They looked at him like he was an aberration, an affront to nature itself. He felt a kinship with that other version of himself, who had seemed so distant until this moment. It was curious; he had faced criticism before, even hatred. Many considered his work unnerving or unnatural, and some even made their antipathy far more personal. What was it about this that was so different? Offense, he realised. People found his work distasteful, they found him ‘creepy,’ but those were matters of taste, based on his actions and his words. That Glatorian had felt all of those things, and none of them truly mattered to Celrys; what had gotten under his skin was the way in which the man seemed to be offended by his very existence. He didn’t care what the artificer said or did, he wasn’t even listening. It was his presence itself that he objected to, and there was nothing that could be done to change his mind. Without realising it, Celrys had grown used to being larger than life – but in that Glatorian’s presence, he felt so very small. Still, there was no time to dwell; Del was what was important. As if awakening from a trance, he turned his attention back to his actual client, just in time to experience their meltdown. No time to waste. “Cacia, we need some water in here, now.” Celrys was already on his feet, and making his way towards the door through which he had emerged. “Right away, sir.” The voice that responded, though tinny and seemingly emerging from Celrys’ desk, was unmistakeably that of the receptionist. Though he rolled his eyes when she addressed him as ‘sir,’ he said nothing, focused on the door. “Skyra, I need you to help Del up and follow me.” He held out his open palm, and the door slid open once again, revealing the workshop that had seen Skyra’s implants installed, like so many other Glatorian. In contrast to the office, the room was all sterile metal – metal walls, floor, desks, moveable trolleys. Metal implements, too. The only exception was the adjustable chair at the centre of the room; though metal in construction, allowing its position to be adjusted as necessary (even laid back entirely), in place of ‘cushions’ it had a rubbery surface upon which the client was expected to sit. It was not as uncomfortable as it looked, if not by very much. Celrys himself had made his way to one of the metal cabinets, from which a fog emerged as he opened it. OOC: @Morgan Yu @Techn0geist @Snelly IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) And there it was. It had worked. She was so dumbfounded that she couldn’t quite keep the look of surprise off her face, but she quickly regained her composure. “You’ll probably want to write this down.” Somnii took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and then began. “Usually, it takes one to two weeks from the first symptoms until… until death. Some made it to three; one was even pushing four when I left. Didn’t even know it was a disease to start with. People just… stopped dreaming.” She shuddered involuntarily, and had to take a moment before she could continue. “It’s not like what you think. It’s… it’s as if you’re still there, the whole time. Asleep, but fully aware. And I don’t just mean you can’t move; I mean you’re aware, and that’s it. You don’t feel anything, don’t hear anything. Your body is asleep, you’re not physically anywhere. But you can’t think either. Only experience. And there’s nothing to experience but time. Every single second you’re ‘asleep,’ you’re aware. Hours of… nothing. Like being forced to sit and stare at a wall, without even the ability to distract yourself. The hours feel like years. And then you wake up, and it gets worse, because there’s no rest either. You wake up and you’re just as tired as when you fell asleep – more tired, even – and then that exhaustion compounds. It gets harder to think; you’re groggy, your reflexes are slow, your legs are as heavy as lead. You start forgetting things – blackouts, at first, then recent things stop sticking. You forget where you are, what you’re doing. Soon enough, though, it doesn’t matter if you used to know it. You don’t have the energy to find it in your mind anymore. You don’t have the energy to do much of anything anymore. But even that is better than being asleep. “Pretty early on, people start trying to keep themselves awake. Simple stuff at first, caffeine, trying to keep your eyes open, the usual things a miner on a long shift knows to do. But that’s not enough, because you still fall asleep, and you still have to experience that… that void. That's when the dying starts. Some people take their own lives; it can’t be so different, after all. At least when you’re dead, you’re gone. Better to be nothing at all than to be forced to stare forever into oblivion. Sometimes it’s an accident – people try to go to work or go about their lives, but they’re slow. They fall, or they get hurt. Sometimes they hurt themselves on purpose, just trying to stay awake, and they’re too tired to realise they cut too deep. It doesn’t matter, because they’ll soon enough die anyway. “The next stage turns the tiredness and confusion to aggression. People become violent, paranoid, irrational. They lash out, hurt others, get themselves hurt. It only takes another day or two after that before they just stop waking up. After that, some of them die quicker than others. We tried to keep the first few alive, comatose; that was before more people started getting it, and we realised what we were doing was tantamount to torture. Better to be dead than to be trapped in that dreamless sleep. So yes – you’re right not to shake my hand. I wouldn’t wish this sickness on anyone. Not even you.” OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Wolf (Atero; Red Star Inn) Wolf nodded. Though perturbed by the other wolf's thoughts on the traditions of her people, she tried not to let it show; she had a feeling that meeting with Moth might allow him a better understanding. "This inn offers lodgings. I can get us a room for the night, and we can set out after daybreak." She downed the remainder of her glass and stood, leaving it upon the table. Ignoring the commotions that had stirred during their conversation – some Ferrumite at the root of them, it seemed – she walked to the bar. Coins became a key. "Upstairs, second door on the left," she said, walking back towards her fellow wolf. "Two beds; you won't have to sleep on the floor." OOC: @Wotz